I turned 35. Please, remain seated. The morning of my birthday I woke up at 5am, laced up my trainers, threw my hoodie over my head and silently slipped out into the bleak dawn chill. You know it’s very …
In the eulogized and buried light of the late evening, the only element left with the Harlequin task of illuminating the night is Carol Odero’s flaming red braids. You know Carol, right? Trained lawyer turned journalist. Editor, Drum magazine. …
Literary pundits say you have to “structure” your writing. That the intro comes first, setting the pace, then the rest of the narrative follow. That you have to first “internalise” what you want to say before you can muster …
I’m in a cyber somewhere in dowtown Kampala. It’s a hot dark small room next to a cereals shop. The aircon blows in dust. If you want cereals from Kampala kindly send me an sms. Like beans. Their beans …
Towards the close of last term, my “lito” girl’s school organized a Father’s Forum thingamajig. The school invites you for these school shindigs by placing cards between the pages of The Diary. The Diary is this small book that …
